Posts Tagged ‘clothing’

General Messaging Unit (Mother To Son)


20 Jan

greenheart-son

Greenheart Son

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From: Margaret Nix
Date: Thu Jan 20, 2000 3:24:07 PM America/New_York

Hi, Son! Haven't heard from you in a long time, it seems. I hope you all did get the letter I wrote thanking you for the check for Christmas. I worry about mail because they say Chicago has the worst system in the country. They talk about it on the TV news sometimes. School is getting into full swing now. I go to two more classes this week than I have been doing. (That makes 3.) Will pick up two more in February. I saw the headline on the Yahoo page that DC has had a big snow storm. Hope you all are warm and able to travel. Here there is ice and snow and pretty terrible cold, but the secret to survival here is truly dressing in layers. Today I put on five layers to come to school (no coat) and have taken off a couple of layers since I've been here. You wrap up your head and neck and face, and hands and wear warm socks and boots. This morning I bought one of those luggage carriers with wheels for my bag and, boy, I should have done that before now. It makes so much difference not to have a heavy bag strapped across your back. Even getting on and off the bus is easier. There is an art to living in Chicago.

There is a psychiatrist who lives at Arlington House (he is a cancer patient, taking Chemo, not practicing medicine)and at meal times, he and I have good conversations sometimes. He really infuriated me one day, however, because he said that psychiatrists were "managers" and psychologists were "clerks".
It gets pretty lonely here at times, but I try to keep busy with studying, and that makes the time go by. I have been out hiking around my neighborhood and even a little around the loop downtown. When I have plenty of clothes on, I love walking in the cold. I have only missed one day since I have been here, going out and about. The trick is not to slip on the ice, but they are pretty good about scraping the sidewalks and streets here. Last night around midnight, I thought the world was ending, there was so much noise outside my window.I got up and looked out, only to see the streetscrapper pushing snow down the alley.

I got some help from a couple of men who live where I do, and got my bookcase and books and computer out of storage, so my little tiny room is full up. Besides my bookcase and the bed (narrow single bed), I have a student desk and a beauro (with no mirror), so what space is left is about a foot wide path down the middle of the room. Mighty tight! Sometimes I get a little stir crazy and I go down to the coffee shop across the street from DePaul University campus and sit for hours along with other grad students (from DePaul) who are studying and drinking coffee. Study, study, study—that's the name of the game.

There is a psychiatrist who lives at Arlington House (he is a cancer patient, taking Chemo, not practicing medicine)and at meal times, he and I have good conversations sometimes. He really infuriated me one day, however, because he said that psychiatrists were "managers" and psychologists were "clerks".

I got a flu shot—first time ever, but I am good and healthy, even tho' everybody around me is coughing etc. So, it was a good thing, taking the shot. Well, I need to take a look at tonight's class assignment, so will close. Just writing boring stuff anyhow.
Damn, man, I wanted to say—all you know how to do is prescribe pills, but I didn't say anything. I was pleased to hear at orientation when they were telling us about our practicums (interships) that they wanted us to have one that had a licensed psychologist as our supervisor, not a psychicatrist—because, they said, psychologists have a different viewpoint that psychiatrists. I'll say they do! I really already love my school, and I know I picked the right one for me.

Please let me hear from you. I look forward to getting email—nobody sends letters thru the postal service.

Oh, I got a little cell phone. The number is 773-450-xxxx. It has voice mail even when the phone is not on, which is nice. I get 200 minutes of air time a month for $39.00, and long distance is free, except on weekends. Presently, however, because the wind and snow are pretty bad, the radio wave has too much statis for long distance. I like it because I have been able to conduct local business, with bank etc. from my room. The stormy weather doesn't seem to interfere with local calls. Sally is long distance, so we haven't talked in about a week—since the bad weather. She and Lester both have been sick with flu. I got a flu shot—first time ever, but I am good and healthy, even tho' everybody around me is coughing etc. So, it was a good thing, taking the shot.

Well, I need to take a look at tonight's class assignment, so will close. Just writing boring stuff anyhow.

Love, M

The Nice, Unpresumptuous, Commendable Kid From Darien


24 Jun

eye

I Just Want A Taste

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Date: Wed Jul 24, 1996 3:02:48 PM

I'll be damned Ben. I just wrote that piece to Landry which I also sent you for your perusal, and then I log on to post & receive any new mail & what do I get but nearly a word for word reflection of everything I had pondered. Geez guy, you and I certainly think alike. About leather, while yes, I was a leather & mohawk phreak in the middle 1980s, and can find both the aroma and aesthetic appealing when confronted by it, in terms of punk rock's not dead and any arrive alive motorcycle culture, but when I speak of bondage I am drawn toward the composure, the counterpoint of cotton fabric, or office professional lace & latitude, long & short dresses, brassieres of all sorts, serious treatments where the woman is aggressive or submissive. I might find myself dressed in all white. Exotic places, dame or damsel, woman or wife in distress, railroad tracks, nurse and teacher, smacking uniforms but never cheesy plastic buffoonery. Admittedly drawn to clothing fetishes but since the mainstreaming of leather, and certain conditions of my own personality, my own soul I have dismissed the leather scene as pompously vain & vulgar. Ropes and clamps, perhaps more than chains & other strategic hardware, would be my own restraints of choice, must be the German in me, but frankly Ben, I have experienced, or experimented with little to none of the B&D protocol except pictorial literature exposed to me early in life by those True Detective rags found in the news stands of my youth. And as we have both pointed out, it seems only a tiny fraction of us get to fully experience our sexual desires in action.

Next, I found myself ridiculed then pursued by an intelligent, motivated, role-playing, self-measured, resolute socialite of sorts, nine years my senior who worked at the Center For Disease Control in Atlanta who aimed for personal control, and finally a very pretty, (even beautiful when her stylings fell into place for any given season), reserved, passive, benign, charitable woman whose strength is her compassion and loyalty, six years older than I am, not too delicate, but still somewhat adventuresome, dutiful, an accountant, the woman whom I married and bingo, I was finally set in stone.
I was a nice, unpresumptuous, commendable kid. White socks and checkered trousers, a nerd, a dandy, a boy scout, an athelete, a wallflower except when I knew what was under the tent flap, knew the rules, knew how far I could press the powers into a match point as I did throughout my school days with teachers who were no competition for their own academic mission or me, prowled everywhere by homosexual predators, the first time just after turning fourteen, and became an immediate masturbation junkie after my molestation by a man in his forties. Only three dates in highschool, both big prom events and one other disastrous outing, where I slid into first base and got thrown out of the game. I was too soft for the girls who preferred the more robust jocks and loud-mouthed cigarette-lipped hard rock hoodlums, gearhead thugs, strangely we didn't have much of a local music scene where I went to school, but this taste of Eden was even true for the good girls with whom I ran around town, in and out of class, but remained just friends as it turned out.

Still a virgin at 18 and having moved away from my parents and five siblings in white trash Florida to just outside Chicago to work for the big bucks of Bethlehem Steel Corporation on Lake Michigan, I was seduced by a woman twice my age. She was a Jehovah's Witness, mother of three kids aged 6, 12, 16, the latter, my only friend in that strange land of stranger consequences. I had been publicly considering moving those 1200 miles back home to my girlfriend Eva when this weak, dependent, vengeful, neurotic, not beautiful but handsome woman removed her blouse and brassiere to lay hands on me some snowy wee hour in December, 1973. My immediate sense of guilt, her immediate bucket of tears once she was entered, remorse, religious baggage, loneliness, the quicker pull out and collapse of boyish penury, hardship, guilt and feminine wiles at work plus her nude-on-the-sofa marriage proposal forever changed my life (or did it?). The five of us lived a hell of familial imbalance no one should ever live for three years. It was another ten years before her Jehovah God finally allowed her to properly divorce me (because someone else in the kingdom I imagine found her attractive enough to pursue).

Even after that frightening criminal affair, and the homosexual gags, I remained a kid of relative innocence, still shy around women, girls. Too smart, too tender, too righteous and well-behaved, a perfect gentleman further torqued by the demands of the first and second waves of the sexual revolution for the sexual plottings of young women my own age, but definitely did not ever consider myself homosexual (I refuse to use the term gay to describe those situations). In my twenties, goodlooking enough but neurotically unsure of it, I felt unsteady, desperate to annul my past, self-punishing, lost forever. Finally in my mid-20s a series of older women again invaded my youth. First lengthy post-marriage stint was with good-looking, highly sexualized woman 14 years my senior, unfortunately the mother of six robust children. Next, I found myself ridiculed then pursued by an intelligent, motivated, role-playing, self-measured, resolute socialite of sorts, nine years my senior who worked at the Center For Disease Control in Atlanta who aimed for personal control, and finally a very pretty, (even beautiful when her stylings fell into place for any given season), reserved, passive, benign, charitable woman whose strength is her compassion and loyalty, six years older than I am, not too delicate, but still somewhat adventuresome, dutiful, an accountant, the woman whom I married and bingo, I was finally set in stone.

That's enough for now. I just wanted to blather on about how remarkable my letter to Landry and your letter to me conspired to bring yet another strange smile to my face, and a loud thanks to my lips.

GT

S A M P L E X

"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""


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